


'Till The Honey Spreads Itself So Thin

by lisachan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, F/F, Lemon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 06:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17976092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisachan/pseuds/lisachan
Summary: Emma and Regina have a secret made of honey and fire.





	'Till The Honey Spreads Itself So Thin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrBalkanophile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBalkanophile/gifts).



> Written for [The Clash of the Writing Titans #9](https://www.landedifandom.net/tag/cow-t-9/), [Week 3](https://www.landedifandom.net/cowt9-week3/), Mission 1, prompt: AU, lemon and angst.  
> DAMN YOU, DEF.

Emma throws her head back, biting at her bottom lip to try and suppress the moans that so desperately want to roll out of her lips, and threaten to tear her throat apart if she keeps trying to hold them prisoner in it. The fact is, what Regina’s doing is driving her crazy. The way her tongue moves, swirls and curls around her clit, the way her lips wrap around it, the way she sucks at it, everything about it makes her want to scream her name and curse the world. So what if I’m married. So what if we’re not meant to be together. So what if it would’ve been way better to meet in our youth, when this fire between us could’ve been free to burn and consume us, no strings attached, letting us free to tie ourselves together as today we never could.

I still want this. I still want to be with you. If the sky fell on the town, if time stopped, if right now a fairy tale monster came out of nowhere, tearing apart the walls of this room with poisonous claws, and came at me, running after my throat, I’d still want to be with you.

She closes her fingers around Regina’s hair, pulling her up. Her face is a mess, her lips are plump and wet and Emma defies her scorn – she never likes to be pulled by her hair, she never likes to be forced to do _anything_ – to press their lips together in a hungry kiss that allows her to taste herself on her tongue. Her juices, mixed with Regina’s saliva, taste like heaven, and she wants to drink from her lips as she’d drink from a cup of nectar held up by the hands of God.

(The thought of being blasphemous only vaguely crosses her mind. When she’s with Regina her thoughts get mudded up in her head, she’s never able to think straight. She thinks thoughts she should be ashamed about. And afterwards she never is.)

“Come here,” she puffs a hot breath against Regina’s lips, pushing her on top of the desk. All the documents piled up on it end up on the carpeted floor. They mix together and Regina lets out a disappointed noise because she hates the mess, but she loves the way Emma brings it into her life. She parts her legs and lets Emma have it her way, as he always does. She’s a rock, she’s alabaster, but she’s weak against her, and she needs to accept that.

Emma settles between her legs, tears her panties off her, sends them flying across the room. They land on the head of the marble bust depicting the founder of Storybrooke’s elementary school and Emma vaguely thinks that it’s truly scandalous that she came here pretending she wanted to discuss her son’s student progress when all she really wanted was to kiss the headmistress of the school until their lips hurt.

What would Henry say if he knew? And what about her husband – sweet, faithful Hook, always ready to do everything for her, ready to please at her command, ready to bend over when necessary? Ready to never ask questions, even though he should?

Both his son’s name and his husband’s, together with their faces, fade away to nothingness when she pushes her fingers inside her, when Regina’s hot wetness welcomes her and clutches around her, when she arches her back and moans in pleasure and Emma knows she defeated her, she defeated her rigidness, she defeated her sense of propriety, she defeated her balking protests. Regina melts to honey on her fingers, and when she comes, whispering her name, Emma bends over and drinks off her, and her taste is life, because what is life if not the single moment in which your heartbeat accelerates because you’re too happy and excited to keep it beating at its normal pace?

Emma lets herself go. She parts her legs and offers herself for the taking, offers herself for Regina’s fingers as she reaches out for her and strokes her faster, faster, making her moan, making her call her name. She comes too, pushing herself against her, wishing she could melt too. That she could leak inside her through her opening, so that a part of her could always stay inside her body.

It’s a dream she likes to have. She should be ashamed, she knows. But she’s lost her taste for shame, and maybe also the ability to feel it.

Puffing and heaving, they set themselves straight. They tidy up their clothes. Regina pulls the tight skirt down her legs to cover her knees and they both wipe their mouths in an obscene gesture that they hide from one another because it is one thing to surrender to passion when it’s hot and fierce, but it’s another thing to face it in broad daylight when the heat is cooling down.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Regina spits out bitterly. 

It’s a cliche sentence that would make Emma laugh, spoken by any other person, in any other circumstance.

If it’s dancing on Regina’s lips, though, it feels like a needle piercing her chest. And it hurts just the same.

She doesn’t answer as he puts her pants back on. She feels dirty and she hates it – why does it always have to feel so horrible, afterwards? How is it possible that all the pleasure, all the intimacy they share inevitably turn sour the moment they stop touching one another? Is it the punishment for what they do, is it atonement for their sin, or are they just hurting themselves because it’s easier to give in for a parenthesis of joy than risk everything to turn it into something more real? 

Sometimes she asks herself such questions, and it hurts to know that she will never know the answers. But as she leaves the room, Regina calls for her and stops her. Holding her wrist between her fingers she makes her turn around and then she kisses her on the door, careess that someone might see them.

Emma welcomes it as an unexpected, unexplicable miracle. She kisses her back, savoring each second of it.

It’s nothing but a moment, it passes and it’s done. But Emma still feels the warmth of Regina’s lips on her own as she leaves the building. And as she waves at Henry, who greets her enthusiastically from the window of his classroom, she puts whatever guilt and shame she’s still able to feel to sleep and she walks back to her car feeling warm and grateful all over, counting the seconds until she can meet her again.


End file.
